Three Years After the Burn
by wholocked12
Summary: When Sherlock jumped off the roof of St. Bartholomew's roof top, it was to save his only three friends. John doesn't know this until one day, three years later when he gets the surprise of a lifetime.
1. Prolouge

Hi there!

So here's the scoop. This is my first Sherlock fan fiction so please be nice! I would love some reviews!

Takes place after TRF

Disclaimer: Sherlock BBC belongs to Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. Though I wish I did, I own nothing. No infringement intended.

John's POV

After I had helped Mrs. Hudson settle in for the night I slowly made my way up to the flat. It felt cold, unwelcoming and above all, empty. I turned on the kitchen light and a lamp in the living room in attempt to make the feeling go away. It did't help. As I put on a kettle for a cup of tea I switched on the television for a bit of noise. It was so quite without him around going on rants and making his deductions. I grabbed my cup of tea and sat heavily down in my chair and stared at the figures on the screen. Two hours passed until I got up and took my still half full tea cup into the kitchen. I gripped the counter in fear of falling down and letting every emotion flow from my body. As I stood there I realized something. Moriarty hadn't burned the heart out of Sherlock, he had burned it out of me.

So reviews? Yes?

Just so you all know this is not Johnlock, just a very strong friendship.


	2. Chapter 1: After Three Years

**Hi there! So this is chapter 1 of Three Years After the Burn! Reviews are very welcome!**

**Here it goes!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Moffat, Gatiss, and the Sherlock writing staff own everything. I'm only a fan!**

Three years after Sherlock's fall to the day I was sitting downtown at a cafe eating lunch with Mycroft. We had grown much closer, or as close as you could get to Mycroft, over the years. It had been hard the past three years and Mycroft had been one person that had given me a bit of support because he was the one person who knew Sherlock best besides me. As I was finishing my sandwich Mycroft took a sip of his tea and look thoughtful, but then a bit sorrowful before saying something that startled me. "My brother is dead and always will be John."

"Why do you say that?'" I asked, confused and a bit hurt at the thought though I knew it was true.

"Because, maybe I'm just trying to tell myself that he is gone and after three years I can't bring myself to say that he's gone forever," he replied carefully with a sad smile tight on his face.

The rest of our meal went in silence. After I finished the last of my meal and paid, I hailed a cab down to Scotland Yard. Luckily, the cab ride wasn't very long because I was a bit antsy to say what I was going to say. When I got out of the cab I started to walk into the building before I realized that Lestrade was standing outside. For a moment, it seemed as though he was waiting for me. "Hey," I spoke in an altogether too cheerful voice.

"Hello John," he spoke heavily.

After a minute of silence he figured out what was on my mind. "Yes, I do know what day it is, though I try to forget every year."

"Yes I thought you would and I also try and do the same. That is also more or less what I am here about. I was wondering if you would like to come to the flat tonight for a little get together in memory of him," I said shakily because I was a bit nervous to hear what he had to say in response. When I said _the flat_ he knew which flat I was talking about. Our flat, the one I had shared with Sherlock. 221B. Baker Street. I hadn't been there since the night of the fall. I went back to the flat I was living in before I had met Sherlock. It was small, inexpensive, and most of all, had nothing to remind me of him. For a few months after I tried to make it as though I had never known him at all. It didn't work of course. No one could ever forget such a brilliant and ignorant mind such as his.

"Sure I'll come. 221B. Baker Street?" he asked though he knew the answer as I knew he would.

"Yes," I answered softly looking down at my feet. The reason I looked down at my feet was not because I was ashamed of having anyone know it was there, it was because everything hurt at the mere mention of the flat and street name. We said our goodbyes quickly and I left, deciding to walk to my next destination since I hadn't been out and about in awhile. My next stop was St. Bart's hospital to find Molly.

It was a crisp, but mild day outside as I approached St. Bart's. I did my best not to look at the rooftop, which still haunted me. When I got inside I went over to the elevator and I was just about to push the up arrow when I read a sign that said "_Elevator out of order, use stairs._" pasted across the front of the doors. "What a day to walk," I huffed, making my way over to the stairs. When I reached the top of the two flights of steps, I was a bit out of breath. I made my way to the morgue and found Molly studying a body with a clipboard in hand.

"Hi there," I said, again altogether too cheerfully. Luckily, she didn't seem to notice.

She turned around with a surprised look on her face and said, "Hi, John!"

I decided to say what I had to say quickly. "I was wondering if you wanted to come over to our flat to night for a little get together in memory of him," I said a bit timidly.

"I'd love to," she said. "Can I bring my boyfriend, Sam Haroldson? He was really fascinated by Sherlock's work."

"Sure" I replied, but as the words escaped my mouth I remembered her last boyfriend who was interested in Sherlock. I tried to make that thought go away by saying, "The more the merrier. See you there." I wasn't really eager to hang around so I walked quickly out the door. As I again ventured down the steps I decided this time I would take a cab. Time to visit Mrs. Hudson.

I hadn't seen her for months because I refused to go back to Baker Street. We had only seen each other once when she called me up to see if I would like to go for lunch. As the cab turned the corner sadness rushed back to me and took over my body. It was almost overwhelming. The burning sensation returned to my heart. I took a deep breath which also took more effort than it should have. I paid the cabbie as we rolled to a stop and slowly exited the cab. Slowly, I approached the unlocked door and opened it. I heard my voice call out, "Mrs. Hudson?"

A few seconds later I heard her call out, "John!? Its been so long!" her voice was excited as she hurried out of her flat and hugged the stuffing out of me.

"I was just wondering if, if, if the flat was still, um, well had, um, all of the stuff," I finally stuttered out.

"Why of course it does," she said kindly.

"I was going to have a get together up there tonight if that was okay with you," I said, feeling a little more confident. "I was wondering if you wanted to come up."

"I'd love to, that's a splendid idea," she exclaimed. "Why don't you head up there and start to get it ready," she said not knowing how much this was going to hurt. I swallowed and made my way over to the steps. "I'll bring up some food later," she said. I couldn't respond so I gripped the railing so hard my knuckles turned white. Cold sweat ran down my forehead. As I came to the top of the stairs I had to steady myself on the wall. It hadn't changed at all, just for a few cobwebs and a musty smell. All of his belongings were still there. Even the teacup I used three years ago was still there. I walked slowly over to my hair and sat down for a moment taking it all in. I imagined a tall slender figure in black sitting across from me, cursing how stupid the television was. I could feel my lips go into a little smile, but before I let myself get too carried away remembering I went into the kitchen and began to prepare.


	3. Chapter 2: Some Things Die, Others Don't

**Hi Everbody! First of all I am very, very sorry for this long delay! You know how it is with life, so anyway while I was away from you all I got this chapter and two others done which is good! So here it goes!**

**Disclaimer: Though I greatly wish I owned Sherlock I do not. Sherlock belongs to Moffat and Gatiss.**

It was ten minutes to six and Mrs. Hudson had already brought up all of the food she had made. There was a pie, some type of casserole dish, snacks, and an alcohol punch. As I was finishing straightening the bookshelf the doorbell rang which apparently had been fixed since Sherlock shot it off... _No_, I thought immediately realizing the thought that had just passed through my mind. I shook my head quickly as the though it would erase the thought and raced down the steps to the door just as the bell was rung for a second time.

Quickly, I threw open the heavy wooden door to find Lestrade standing outside. He was wearing a black suit with a grey button down shirt and a thin black tie. "Hi Greg, come in," I greeted stepping aside so he could walk in.

"How's it going?" he asked as he turned to face me as I closed the door.

"Oh, you know, getting by," I replied with a tight smile. "You?"

"Pretty good, could be better," he replied.

There was an uncomfortable silence following so I decided to break it as quickly as possible. "Um, why don't you just, uh, head on upstairs while I go check on Mrs. Hudson."

"Okay," he said and dashed up the stairs. I sighed heavily and walked back to Mrs. Hudson's apartment, but just as I was getting there, she bumped into me.

"Oh! Hello dear, I was just about to head up," she said with a smile.

"Okay, Lestrade is up there-," I was cut off by the ring of our second guests. "I'll be up in a minute," I said and dashed to answer the door. Again I swung it open. This time though, I found Molly and a tall man waiting outside. Molly was wearing a dark green, strapless silk dress with a simple black necklace and matching high heels. The man that accompanied her had a mop of fiery red curls and piercing, ice blue eyes. He, like Lestrade, wore a black suit but his was with a white shirt and minus a tie. "Hello Molly and..." I drifted off realizing either I didn't know the man's name or, more likely, I had forgotten it.

"Sam Harlodson," he replied quickly filling in the space and extending his hand in greeting.

"John Watson," I greeted, shaking it, and then I realized that they were still outside. "Oh, come on in," I said retracting my hand and letting them into the entrance way. I led the way upstairs to find Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade chatting in the kitchen. They all greeted each other as I opened the bottle of wine. Sam and Molly walked over to sit down in the living room. Molly sat in my chair and Sam sat in Sherlock's which kind of took me off guard for a moment, but then I realized that he didn't know that so I just went over and sat on the sofa. There was another awkward silence so I decided to attempt to start a conversation.

"So, Sam. What do you do for a living?" I asked.

"Uh, I'm a neurologist," he responded.

"That's a great department to be in," I replied nodding slightly.

He abruptly stood and looked at the fireplace. "Is that Sherlock Holmes in this picture?" he asked picking up a frame.

"Uh, yes," I drew out the word _yes,_ standing up. I felt slightly uncomfortable with his question.

"Wow, I loved his work. Extraordinary man, he was," he kept going.

"Yeah," I said walking slowly over to where he was standing.

"How long has it been since his little stunt off of Bart's?" he questioned innocently.

That was enough to make me snap. "It has been three years since his _little stunt,_" I replied straining to keep my calm over this little twerp asking stupid questions. "So what do want to know anyway?" I asked, rounding the corner so I was standing in front of him.

"Oh I don't know... Maybe how and why he did it. Would you know?" he kept asking and pushing forward.

"I was his best friend and still to this day I do not know why or how he did it," I said raising my voice.

"Okay," He stretched the word out to impossible lengths. "Do you want to know how?"

"I'm done with this little game or whatever the bloody heck this is," I yelled. "Who are you and why would you know?" I yelled and shoved him a bit, though I felt like punching the daylights out of him.

"Does this look like a game?" he asked spreading his arms out wide as if he was a magician explaining a trick he had just done.

"Of course it doe-" he cut me off.

"Hold on, let me speak," he put his hands out as if to hold me back. I rolled my eyes and he went on. "Have you ever heard of the three steps of a magic trick? The last step is when you make something disappear, you have to make it reappear. Correct? Did Sherlock Holmes say these words to you before he jumped; '_It was just a magic trick?'" _Before I could answer his question he kept speaking. "I believe he did. Don't you? His final act in this trick is to come back from the dead, is it not? I think it's about time that the act comes to an end-"I cut him off with my own question.

"Who the _heck_ are you?" I whispered backing away from him.

"Guess," he said with a mischievous grin that I knew all too well.

**Well can you guess who it is? I know that no one likes cliffhangers (hem, hem, _Moffat_!) so depending on how busy I am I will try to get the next chapter up by Wednesday. No promises but I will try! Comments, as always, are quite welcome! **


	4. Chapter 3: The Telling of a Story

**Hi again! First of all for the record I do know it is not Wednesday and I am very sorry! Right now I think it is about time to end our little cliffhanger so here is the next chapter!**

**Disclaimer: Though I would greatly love owning these amazing characters I sadly do not. They belong to the great Moffat and Gatiss!**

Next thing I knew, I was on top of the man yelling at the top of my lungs and pummeling him to a pulp. It felt like I was on the outside watching this happen to two other people, not doing it myself. After what felt like an eternity, I felt my self being dragged off of him. I was so exhausted and angry I didn't resist the hands that pulled me free of my trance-like state. It turned out to be Lestrade and Molly, but as soon as I was off Lestrade took his turn. I just sat on the floor staring at my feet until once again I was pulled up and seated in my chair. Apparently, Molly had somehow managed to pull Lestrade off of "Sherlock" before any more damage was done to him. I looked up and saw the man now in a standing position, but he was swaying. His face had bruises already forming on his pale skin and blood trickling from his mouth, nose, and other various gashes covering his face. Before he fell down, Molly led him to the chair across from me where he slumped down and stared at his enormous feet. I couldn't take looking at him so I stared without blinking at my shaking hands. Suddenly, there were comforting hands rubbing my shoulders in a tender way. Glancing up, I remembered Mrs. Hudson had been in the room the whole time and now she was trying to help me calm down. I gave her a tight, forced smile and returned my gaze to my hands. _How can this be happening?_ I thought, shaking my head slowly.

"John, I'm sorry," the man whispered.

I looked up to meet the eyes of the man who used to be my best friend. My eyes welled up, but I refused to let the tears fall down my cheeks. I didn't say anything, I just stared at the familiar face that I had grown so accustomed to seeing everyday and then lost for what I thought was forever. My mind felt like someone mixing cookie dough, I couldn't figure anything out or put anything together.

"No," I muttered. "No, no, no." I repeated the two letter word over and over again.

I stood quickly up and felt my head spinning in circles as I stumbled to the door. It felt like I was looking out someone's glasses who had a very high prescription. Everything was blurry. I ran to the side of the curb and threw my hand in the air for a cab. Collapsing onto the seat as soon as the door opened, I told the cabbie where I wanted to go before I even knew what I was saying.

"St. Bart's hospital."

The car went into motion and I held my head in my hands. It was the only thing I could do not to explode in a wild mass of emotions. I slumped down and held my breath for what felt like an eternity until the cab came to a halt. Stumbling, I fell out of the cab after throwing a random amount of money in the approximate direction of where the cabbie was seated at the wheel. Standing before the white brick building, I did something I hadn't done in three years. I looked up at the roof. It was the same as I remembered it, looming large over many other buildings and also the place that my best friend "died". Images of the black coat fluttering as the body that wore it plunged to the concrete that lay below flew in front of my eyes. I don't know how long I was standing on the opposing sidewalk to the building, but after a while I noticed a body standing tall next to me. When I was starting to ignore it and thinking that it was just someone with an interesting hobby, an awkward hand was placed on my shoulder and I immediately knew who it was. Turning to face him, I again looked into his face. I don't remember much, but I do know he hailed another cab back to the flat and guided me into the seat. During the whole duration of the event I stayed somber and allowed him to move me forward. The ride back was silent and full of unsaid words. When we got back to the flat, he led me back up and sat me down in my chair where there was a cup of tea waiting on the end table. Lestrade was sitting on the sofa staring straight ahead at the fire place and not acknowledging anything around him. Mrs. Hudson was in the kitchen preparing more tea for everyone else and Molly was sitting in the chair next to the desk while Sherlock took the seat across from me.

Molly was the first one to to speak, "John, Mrs. Hudson, Greg, I'm very sorry for not telling you all, but the thing you all need to understand is that I couldn't. Nobody could," she stuttered at the end and looked down at her feet.

"Why?" I muttered, leaning back and actually looking up at her.

This time though, the person to answer was not Molly, but Sherlock. "Moriarty had been on the roof with me and as you probably all know, he committed suicide. Before that though he had told me something that I knew was coming ahead of time. If I didn't die, all of you would. He had snipers already out and ready to pull the trigger at his signal. Moriarty knew that that was the only way I was going to jump off of Bart's; if I knew he would hurt you all. Before I went to the roof I had everything planned. I knew I was going to have to fake my death. Jim was a smart man, but he didn't remember one person. Molly. She was the only person I knew of who would be able to help me since she is a pathologist. Molly was driving the truck that stood in front of the building and the people surrounding were people of my homeless network. Two of them rolled a replica of my body from the truck and when I jumped I landed on a cushion and was pushed into the underbelly of the truck by two other members of the network. The biker who hit you, John, was another person working for me as a distraction so we had time to get away before you got there. I changed into a disguise and Molly acted as though she were picking up trash from her building when I escaped into her flat. She then went back to work, labeled the fake body as my body and it was finished except for one part. The rest of the Moriarty network was still out there. If I showed my face, they would kill you all on sight. That's how the next part of my journey went. For the next year Molly hid me in her flat, away from the world until most people would've forgotten almost completely that I had ever existed in the first place. Next, I knew I needed help and the only person I knew could help me was my brother. After severely lecturing me, Mycroft agreed to help me destroy the web. It took two years to kill or scramble the network to no return. There is only one person left on my list and that is a man named Sebastian Moran. Jim Moriarty's cousin and right hand sniper. He's currently trying to find new members. That's it," he finally finished throwing his arms in the air in surrender.

Mrs. Hudson choose that moment to come out with a tray of tea cups with cream and sugar in little pitchers on the side. When she handed Sherlock his, she patted him on the shoulder and smiled at him. I realized then that she wasn't mad at him, she was just extremely happy to have the man who was like a son to her back and mostly safe. Knowing that everyone was waiting for me to say something, I took a deep breath and let out a large sigh before speaking.

"You know what? I hated you every day for doing that to me. If I ever saw you again I vowed to myself I would kill you on sight. Now, though, I'm still angry, frustrated, and sad, but I'm also just extremely happy to see you alive and breathing," I said looking into my now empty cup. "I guess I'm just mixed up on what to feel," I looked up into his pale, sharp face that held bruises and gashes but not the blood. It was familiar, yet haunted me to look at.

Lestrade, who I forgot was in the room, took his turn to speak then. "I feel the same as John, I couldn't have put it any better myself."

Mrs. Hudson didn't say anything, but everyone knew what she was thinking. Everyone stayed silent and it felt good and comfortable to be in the same room with all of my friends for the first time in three years. It was now 8 o'clock and no one felt like eating anymore so we decided to say or goodbyes for the night. It surprised me when Lestrade gave Sherlock a quick hug and left immediately afterword without word to anyone else. The thing, or person, that surprised me most was when Molly gave Sherlock a quick hug before she departed and he actually returned it. Of course Mrs. Hudson gave him a giant hug and he returned that, but I had no idea why he would hug Molly. I shrugged it off as just a way to thank her for helping him, but it still bugged me. When everyone was gone, Sherlock looked at me.

"I see you didn't redecorate," he noticed pointing to the smiley face that still scarred the wall.

"Well, actually," I began, "I didn't live here," I said sitting down again.

He nodded because he obviously didn't understand why I wouldn't. _Sentiment is still a puzzle to him,_ I thought, flicking the television on. He walked back to the bathroom to take a shower to see if the dye would come out of his hair. After half an hour of watching an extremely stupid soap opera, which always seemed to be on now, I walked back to the bathroom to see how Sherlock was coming with the dye. I knocked on the door and he immediately opened it. He was standing with his robe on and was rubbing furiously at his still red hair.

"It. Won't. Come. Out," he growled throwing the towel to the ground in frustration.

"Of course it won't," I answered stifling a laugh. "It's probably permanent." When I said that he got an odd gleam in his eyes and I knew what he was thinking. "No, I don't have a razor here. You're just going to have to live with it until it comes out."

He huffed and stomped out of the room, pushing past me so he could get to his room.

"I'm going to bed!" I called after him and I trotted down the hallway to my old bedroom.

The room smelled musty when I stepped in. It was just how I remembered it except with an extra layer of dust coating everything. After I threw on a pair of old pajamas I found in a drawer that weren't eaten by moths, I turned down the covers of my bed and got in. Nothing had ever felt so good. My body quickly relaxed and I fell asleep. For once in the past three years, my dreams weren't haunted with Sherlock jumping, but instead it was when we first met.

**So that's it for now! I'll try to get the next chapter up by maybe next Friday... And now for a little self advertising! So I just had another story come out and I would absolutely looovve some feedback on it! The story is, The Making of a Machine. As always comments are welcome, don't forget to check out my new story!**


	5. Chapter 4: Unexpected Introductions

**Hi there! I know, I'm over a week late again! I'm sorry for doing it again, I promise I will try not to do this anymore! Any who, here we go with chapter four, I hope you enjoy it.**

**Disclaimer: Sadly, I own nothing. It all belongs to Moffat and Gatiss.**

* * *

The next day I woke up to something not too pleasant. The smell of fire. Alarmed, I groggily ran into the kitchen still in my nightclothes. For a few minutes I was also surprised to be in the old flat until the memories of last night flooded back into my head.

"What the heck are you burning in there?" I coughed through a cloud of smoke pouring out of the tiny kitchen.

"Toast," Sherlock yelled back as the sprinklers went off, soaking me within seconds.

I sloshed my way into the kitchen and slipped across the tile floor. Sherlock was standing in his robe with a towel and was trying to hit out the fire that had now almost ceased. Where the toaster used to sit was now a stack of melted plastic and ash.

"I take it that you deleted how to make toast?" I inquired tapping my soaked socked foot as the sprinklers turned off and the smoke cleared.

"Toast isn't important," he muttered, going over to the sink.

"Oh, right of course," I nodded rolling my eyes. "How do you even burn toast that much to demolish the toaster along with it?"

He didn't answer for a long moment, but then he turned from the sink to look at me. "I was simply making toast and while it was cooking I retreated to my mind palace. Then I came back in here after five minutes and the toaster was on fire and melting. End of story," he finished turing back to the sink where he was scrubbing his hands free of the soot that clung to them.

I sighed and went over to get the garbage can out of the corner to dispose of the recently deceased toaster. First I brushed the ash in and then I attempted to pry the now cooling plastic from the counter.

"Come. _On_," I muttered pulling it until my nail broke.

I looked at my bleeding finger and glared at the toaster darkly.

"Well, Sherlock. It looks like our first official day at the flat has begun with a new flatmate. Meet Toasty," I spat, gesturing my non-injured hand to the stuck mess that had made a home on the counter.

"Hello Toasty," he muttered without turning around to look at it.

"He can be friends with Smiley," I rambled to myself, putting the garbage back and picking up the mop that leaned against the wall.

When I got back in the kitchen Sherlock was gone, leaving me to clean _his_ mess up by myself. I quickly ran the mop around the floor picking up all of the stray ash that coated the floor in several areas. It took me a total of two hours to scrub the entire kitchen. When I was finally satisfied with its condition I trudged out of the kitchen to take a shower and was very displeased to see Sherlock lounging in his chair on his laptop furiously typing. He was fully clothed in one of his suits.

"Thanks for helping," I muttered to myself as I walked back to the bathroom to take a shower.

I grabbed my old robe off of the back of my bedroom door and went into the bathroom and ran a hot shower. The water felt good on my cold skin. I_t's as if no time has passed at all,_ I thought. _I still get as annoyed with him as if it were the first day we met. _When I was done with my shower I went in my bedroom to pick out something to wear from my minimal clothing selection. My closet was practically empty and most of what was there had, along with my pajamas, moths eating away at them. I finally found a dark brown jumper and a pair of light jeans that I was able to wear. When I was dressed, I walked out into the living room where Sherlock was still sitting with his computer in his chair, but now he was just searching instead of typing. I went over and plopped myself down in my chair across from him and flipped the television to the news. It was a story about the death of an older man after a mishap during cardio surgery.

"So what were you planning on doing today other than burning toast?" I asked not looking over at him.

He ignored my first comment and replied with, "Catching up at the station."

"Well if that's your plan then you need a disguise or something because I definitely don't consider that one," I said gesturing to his current attire.

"You didn't recognize me," he retorted not looking up from his computer screen.

I didn't respond to his remark because I couldn't, I didn't have anything to respond with. It was true. I didn't recognize him entirely until he started to talk like Sherlock and even then I wasn't positive it was him.

"_Just __change,_" I whispered harshly.

For a moment he just scowled at the screen, but then he actually, to my disbelief, slammed the cover shut and stalked back to his room. I smirked and flicked off the television to go get a cup of tea. While the water was boiling I poked the toaster and shook my head. _Maybe Sherlock will melt it with acid in one of his experiments,_ I thought. I poured myself a cup of tea, walked out into the living room, and grabbed my laptop after I had set my tea on the side table. Once I was on I did something I hadn't done in awhile, I went straight to my blog page. I checked the stats and was surprised to find that I had had views recently. The views had never really stopped coming even when after his reputation had been dragged through the mud. There was nothing I wanted to type at the moment and then I realized even if I wanted to I didn't have anything _to _write. When I was shutting my computer down Sherlock trudged out of the back room in a new outfit that I had never seen before. He was wearing dark jeans, a purple dress shirt with a black sweater over it making it so you could only see the purple collar, and black dress shoes to match.

"When did you get that?" I asked stifling a laugh not at his outfit, but at the way he stood in it and the look on his face.

"Five years ago at Christmas from Mummy," he muttered, obviously very displeased with his new attire. "Are you satisfied now?"

"Yeah," I chuckled, draining my cup and walking it into the kitchen.

When I came back out into the living room he was putting on his scarf and trench coat.

"No," I said.

"What _now_?" he asked, turning to look at me with a confused look coating his face.

"That, along with the deerstalker, were the trademark things that people recognized you by," I replied shrugging on my black jacket.

He rolled his eyes and slowly tore his jacket and scarf from his body. "It's warm enough," he murmured and dashed down the steps.

I followed after and met a waiting cab that Sherlock was getting into. I leaped into the seat next to him and the cab tore off on its route to Scotland Yard. The cab ride was completely silent except for the annoying hum of the cabdriver. There wasn't much to be said and neither of us were exactly in the mood for small talk. When the cab pulled to a stop in front of the large office building, Sherlock hopped out and disappeared into the building before I was even all the way out of the vehicle. I walked into the building to just to see him turn a corner. Walking quickly, I attempted to catch up with him through the many corridors leading to Lestrade's office, but failed miserably. I caught up with him when he was standing across from Lestrade at his desk and shaking hands with him.

"What are you guys here about?" he asked when I entered.

"Cases," Sherlock informed him, falling to the seat next to the desk and folding his hands in his lap. "I kept to date on most of them, but I would like to hear about the ones mentioning Sebastian Moran."

I sat in the chair next to him and waited for Lestrade's reply. "I do recall the name. I actually believe we have had a few run-ins with him over the years now that you bring it up. Quite a few recent ones of him murdering some men," he muttered rummaging through some files.

As if on cue Donovan walked in. "Sir, another murder down town. First suspect is Moran, again," she reported to him.

"I'll be right there," he grunted, stretching his back from the bent position it was in.

For some reason, she hung around. "Who's this?" she questioned, gesturing to Sherlock.

Before he could answer for himself I did. "Um, an old army friend. Sam Hutchison meet Sergeant Sally Donovan."

Sherlock briefly smiled and extended his hand. I could tell he was trying his hardest not to ruin the act by insulting her in some way. I glanced up at her to see if she bought it and I knew right away she did. Her eyes were sparkling at him, which being Sherlock meant he was oblivious to that fact. Not good. Lestrade got up and walked to the door where Donovan was in a daze and ushered her out.

"You guys can come if you want," he called back.

Sherlock nodded vigorously so I replied with, "Sure, we'll follow in a cab."

We stood and walked after them and this time I actually matched Sherlock's stride. When we got outside of the building and I hailed a cab just as the police car was pulling away from the curb. The good thing about following in a cab is that you practically get to say the age old line of, _Follow that car!_

"Where to?" the cabbie asked in a nasally voice.

"Could you just follow the police cars that just pulled away?" I replied.

"Sure, why not?" he answered and we rumbled away from the police station.

The first thing I said to Sherlock was, "I only am agreeing to this on one condition, you don't act like yourself. You can act as interested in it as you want, but you can _not_ go in there and start spouting off deductions like you normally would."

He huffed and rolled his eyes for a long moment, but then he finally replied, "_Fine_."

"Thank you. If you don't abide by it I will drag you out by your ear if I have to," I muttered turning to look out the window.

"You couldn't reach," Sherlock huffed which made me frown. The short jokes had made an unfortunate return.

We pulled up to a new white brick building that was now surrounded in yellow caution tape and had police officers and cars swarming in and out of it. There was also an ambulance parked in the corner, probably just in case someone else was injured. When the cab jerked to a halt Sherlock bounded out once again, leaving me to pay also once again. I couldn't find my wallet in my jacket for a minute until I realized that it was in my other pocket. By the time I had retrieved the money out of my wallet the cabbie was becoming impatient, so when I got out I barely had time to close the door before he sped off down the street looking for faster fairs. When I turned around to find Sherlock I realized that blending in wasn't working well for him. He was standing next to Lestrade and Donovan talking and he looked as if he was going to burst in frustration when Anderson sauntered over in his feminine way. I rushed over as quickly as possible to make sure, one I was there for the introductions in case Lestrade forgot Sherlock's undercover name and two to make sure that Sherlock didn't tear Anderson to pieces. When I arrived at the spot I could tell Sherlock was getting ready to open his mouth and pound Anderson to a pulp with insults.

"Anderson," I greeted with a fake smile plastered to my face. "Nice to see you."

"This is a crime scene, I don't want it contaminated," he snorted, which made me have to restrain myself from raising my eyebrows at him.

"Have you met Sam yet?" I asked, ignoring his earlier comment.

"No," he grumbled.

"Well then Anderson, this is an old army friend of mine Sam Hutchison. Sam, Anderson." I introduced, but this time Sherlock refused completely to shake his hand until I kicked his foot.

His lips curled into a smile for less than a second before they returned to a line.

Lestrade could obviously tell that this was going downhill quickly so he said, "Would you guys like to take a look at the scene?" We both nodded modestly in response and were led by Lestrade into the building followed by the bothersome two.

We walked a flight of stairs to the second floor and the first door on the left was propped open with people walking in and out. I was very thankful that when Anderson told us to put on the blue jumpsuits that Sherlock listened to him and did as he was told. When we walked into the crowded room and made our way over to the other section of tape my heart nearly stopped when the body was revealed to us through the crowd.

* * *

**Cliffhanger! Who's dead? Like it? Don't like it? I'd love some reviews on what you guys think of my portrayal of the characters. I know it's a a bit OOC at times, but bear with me on this! I will try my hardest to get the next chapter up by the weekend.**


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